


New Man

by Daegaer



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Body Swap, Humor, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4770890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Schuldig wakes up feeling brand new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Man

This was going to be a long day, Schuldig reckoned, as he gazed down his cream-coloured sleeves and felt glasses slipping over the ridge of his nose. He looked surreptitiously at Crawford, who was tugging on his green jacket with an expression that said he'd rather eat glass.

"This is all your fault," Crawford muttered. He blew an exasperated breath. "Great. I've got the goddam German accent."

Schuldig felt a little ill at seeing himself . . . Crawford . . . looking so impotently furious and miserable. He tried not to look too closely – did his hair _really_ stick up like that? And was he really so, so _cheap_ -looking? His face looked different in the mirror.

"Damn, I'm hot," he said, and smiled his most irritating grin. It felt wrong. Still, a bit of self-esteem reinforcement wouldn't go amiss.

"Oh, please," Crawford said, folding his arms and standing a lot straighter than Schuldig's body was normally happy with. "You think you look like an aging Europop star who still dreams of being big in Japan."

" _Aging?_ " Schuldig said, outraged. Then, horrified, "You read my mind!"

"I read your mind," Crawford agreed, making an abortive movement to shove non-existent glasses up his nose. "Interesting."

"Interesting?" Schuldig yelled. " _Inter-fucking-esting?_ is that all you can say?" He was alone in his head, he suddenly realized. Totally and utterly alone. No voices, no background noise, not even the faintest murmur to let him know he wasn't circling over an infinitely deep and dark well of the blackest water, unable to sense the monsters coming up inexorably from below –

 _So you really_ are _always that melodramatic._

He stared at Crawford in shock.

"Interesting," Crawford repeated, and gave him a Crawford-grin, sharp round the edges and full of the joys of other people's pain. "Anyway," he said, I think you'll find that our current situation is the result of _your_ telepathy." He cocked his head meaningfully towards the rumpled bed. "I knew I felt a bit odd last night before falling asleep."

Oh. Now that Schuldig thought about it, he'd found it oddly hard to get comfortable last night. He was suddenly glad they hadn't turned the light on. Still, he'd never come across blame he couldn't avoid, his name notwithstanding.

"You were the one who wanted to try that mystic Tantric stuff!" he snapped. He dug his hands deep in the suit jacket's pockets and slouched as much as he could. The least he could do was to ruin the line of Crawford's stupid, expensive clothes. " _Wisdom of the Ages_ , you said. _Really hot sex_ , you said. Newsflash, brainiac, next time you want to try stuff out you found in an ancient book of sex-magic that your bosses in your occult secret organization personally went to find on a trip bankrolled by their old chum Adolf – try not doing it with a telepath! Moron!" His voice was rising back towards panic, but he decided not to care. Maybe he could strain Crawford's vocal cords or something. . . . he needed to take one step to the right. He blinked. Why did he want to take one step to the right?

As he was thinking about it, Crawford punched him squarely in the nose.

"Fuck!" Schuldig said, and managed to evade about half of the follow-up blows. When he stopped _thinking_ about it, he found it a lot easier just to obey the almost physical hunches, and the fight started turning in his favour. At least until Crawford got the hand of moving really fast.

The door opened as Schuldig heaved the lamp across the room. Nagi ducked and it clattered out into the hall beyond.

"Are you fighting or fucking?" Nagi said.

"Fighting," Schuldig and Crawford chorused.

"Huh. I'm going out."

"Go. Go!" Crawford said, looking a lot less furious and a lot more like he wanted several drinks and a lie down in a darkened room.

No good can come of this, Schuldig thought. He frowned. What the hell was _that?_ It hadn't felt like the sparks and prodding of Crawford's gift during the fight. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"Just out. To look at computer . . . things."

With a cheerily insolent wave of his hand that inadvertently ripped the door off the wardrobe behind Crawford, Nagi trotted off. The front door slammed behind him.

"That was weird," Schuldig said.

"Does Nagi usually think very, very hard about _literally_ masturbating over new peripherals?" Crawford said suspiciously.

They looked at each other. Then they sprinted for Nagi's room.

Farfarello looked up irritably from where he was sitting cross-legged on Nagi's bed, typing fast on Nagi's laptop.

"There'd better be a good explanation for this," he said. "If Farfarello damages my body I won't be amused."

Schuldig got a sudden and very clear image of Nagi gamboling into a church to try out telekinesis as a mass murder weapon. It was going to be a _very_ long day, he thought as his glasses slipped down yet again.

On the bright side, it _had_ been the best orgasm of his life.


End file.
